On Monday morning–New Year’s Day–we put our white German shepherd, Cassie, to sleep. She’d been diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma, an aggressively metastatic cancer, the week before Christmas, after our vet found a large mass on her spleen. When we brought Cassie home after having her spleen removed, we knew our task was to make the rest of her life as comfortable as possible, no matter how long or short.
J and I have ushered too many pets from this world to the next: countless cats and now four dogs. Our commitment to stay with a pet until their final breath–to be present during their passing rather than handing over the leash and walking away–is one we both take very seriously. We’ve grown all-too-familiar with the the euphemistically named “Meditation Room” at the Angell Animal Medical Center, where families can gather on couches or on the floor while their pet slips quietly away. We know the Meditation Room and the routine that goes with it because it’s a scene we’ve repeated with pet after pet after pet. After spending so much time, energy, and worry tending to an ailing or elderly pet’s final days, suddenly they are gone.
When Cassie was in surgery two weeks ago and her surgeon saw her cancer had spread, our vet called and gave us the option of euthanizing Cassie right there on the operating table. Without batting an eye, I said no. There is no need to prolong the inevitable–neither J nor I believe in extraordinary measures–but there also isn’t any reason to hasten it. After her surgery, Cassie had a good, comfortable week at home surrounded by the familiar rituals of her daily routine. Without a bleeding mass on her spleen, she felt more energetic than she had before surgery–almost as good as new–and we plied her with cold cuts for Christmas and spent a lot of time petting, brushing, and fussing over her.
Instead of dying on an antiseptic operating table, Cassie left us at the fullness of time, after we’d spent a week consciously, intentionally loving her to death. Past midnight on New Year’s Eve, she was her usual alert and affectionate self; on New Year’s morning, she was listless and droopy, with white gums indicating an internal hemorrhage. Having discussed this inevitability with our vet–ultimately, we knew, hemangiosarcoma always wins–a difficult decision wasn’t difficult at all. Although Cassie didn’t know much less understand her diagnosis, her body told us it was time.
Jan 3, 2018 at 7:55 pm
It’s always sad to lose a loved one.
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Jan 3, 2018 at 8:14 pm
so sorry for your loss. she was lucky to have you guys there by her side – showering her with devoted love, always aware of her needs. of course, you were lucky to have her as part of your family. there is nothing quite like the unconditional love of our pets. blessings, lorianne, and wishes for a good and healthy year ahead..
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Jan 3, 2018 at 8:59 pm
Sincerest condolences. It’s never easy to lose a little loved one. Hugs.
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Jan 3, 2018 at 10:47 pm
Awww I’m so sorry she went. Pets are our eternal souls that we love for eternity. May she Rest In Peace. 😢
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Jan 4, 2018 at 7:10 am
I am so sorry- I know the pain of losing a beloved pet. What a beauty .
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Jan 4, 2018 at 11:16 am
You gave her a great life! She was lucky to have you and J.
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Jan 14, 2018 at 4:37 am
its an interesting ethical question, the complete life and death control we have over our pets !
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Feb 7, 2018 at 7:11 pm
[…] we put Cassie to sleep on New Year’s Day, I was ready to spend a good long time grieving, but J believes in quickly moving on. It’s […]
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Sep 9, 2018 at 6:53 pm
[…] is the third pet we’ve euthanized this year: we put Cassie the dog to sleep on New Year’s Day, before the start of spring semester, and we euthanized Gumbo the cat at the […]
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